


who shall wear the starry crown

by halloweenieroast



Category: Da Vinci's Demons
Genre: Alternate Canon, F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-02
Updated: 2013-06-02
Packaged: 2017-12-13 17:13:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/826769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halloweenieroast/pseuds/halloweenieroast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>She laughs a little, because she wonders what the convent would think of this.</i>
</p>
<p>Giuliano spends the night before his wedding with Vanessa and Zo. Almost entirely plot-free.</p>
            </blockquote>





	who shall wear the starry crown

‘Vanessa, amore mio, you’ve spent far too long behind that bar for tonight. I think you need to step in front of it.’   
She flashes him a smile and sets aside the wine flagon she’s polishing. ‘And I think you’ve tried that line on every bar wench in Florence.’

Zo gasps so theatrically he nearly falls backwards off his stool. He grabs her hand and brings it to his lips, quirking one eyebrow up at her. ‘For the finest bar wen- bar woman in all of Italy, I reserve only the most sophisticated flirtations.’  
Vanessa rolls her eyes and yanks her hand away, biting her lip to suppress a smile. ‘Are you going to buy another drink, or are you just here to be a nuisance?’  
‘I’m buying a drink for every man in this tavern, my love, and two for the Medici enjoying his last night as a single man.’  
‘You’ve made that order three times tonight,’ she tuts. ‘I hope you’re being paid well.’  
‘I don’t get paid, darling, I get by.’  
‘On?’  
He makes another grab for her hand, brushes his lips against her knuckles. ‘Kisses,’ he grins, ‘and promises.’   
She looks him up and down. ‘If I don’t have every due piece of coin in my hand before midnight,’ she warns, ‘I’ll beat you like a hired mule.’  
‘Oh,’ he smirks, eyeing her darkly. ‘I like a woman with a bit of fire.’

She slaps him, and he runs off, laughing, to join his friends.

-

It is around midnight and the boys are still laughing and stomping and swearing - all the stupid things that boys do when you leave them to themselves - when Giuliano makes his way to the bar.

‘I’m sorry,’ he frowns.  
‘Why?’  
‘The other woman - Camilla - God be good, I’ve never even talked to her. I don’t want it, I don’t want her-‘  
Vanessa leans on the bar and nudges his chin up so that he’s forced to lock eyes with her. ‘What do you want, Giuliano?’  
He’s silent for a moment, expression faltering. ‘You,’ he says quietly. ‘You, this, a quiet room… you.’  
She laughs a little. ‘Don’t be so dramatic. I’m not going anywhere. When you marry, you’ll have a woman to bear you children, a new house, a new family. A new bed to fuck me in.’  
He gives her a warning glare. ‘Don’t, Vanessa. It’s not that simple.’  
‘It is. I’m going to pour you another mead and you’re going to go and be with your friends. Tomorrow you’re going to marry and after that you’re going to come and visit your tavern mistress whenever you please.’ 

He doesn’t bother arguing with her, which she is glad for. She doesn’t know how much longer she can keep smiling.

-

Hours pass and her dress pockets are heavy with coin - they’re all nice enough men, who speak too fast and tip too freely. Mainly Zo’s acquaintances, according to Giuliano. Most of them leave in the hour following midnight, some stay at a table, half-asleep. There are only five of them left when Giuliano approaches her, hair tousled and face flushed drunk-red. Zo tails behind him, grinning like a fool, and she wonders what idea they’ve gotten into their heads. 

‘Vanessa,’ he calls, reaching over the bar and placing his hands on her shoulders. ‘My last- my last night out of marriage, I must have you. Please.’  
She laughs a little at his forwardness - the kind only enough drinks can grant him. ‘Now?’  
‘Now.’  
She nods at Zo. ‘And what might he be doing here?’  
Zo clears his throat and leans on the bar. ‘As a friend of the house Medici,’ he explains, a barely-there slur making his words run together, ‘I’ve been formally invited to join you.’  
Vanessa blinks once, and then again at Giuliano. ‘You truly are drunk. You’ve never had an idea this fun.’

-

They leave with their arms around each other - she feels a little giddy, and the other two just need support to walk straight. She had looked at the sincerity on Giuliano’s face and the mischievousness on Zo’s, downed a cup of their strongest ale and nodded her approval.  
She’s always liked the similarities of the two men, both comely and dark and confident, but it’s only in such close proximity to both does she begin to notice their differences. Even in his drunkenness, Giuliano’s hands are still cautious, asking for permission before they slide around her waist or run through her hair. Zo, however, has taken full advantage of the situation and freely presses his lips against her neck or squeezes her thigh lightly.  
She doesn’t mind, and Giuliano doesn’t seem to either. 

-

They find more wine at the inn which is good because Vanessa decides she’s going to need another drink, maybe three, before this stops being utterly strange.  
Zo seems positively in his element. She wonders if she should ask him if he’s done this before, but thinks better of it because she just knows what the answer will be. He makes quick work of his own shirt, which she supposes already left nothing to the imagination, and then she feels Giuliano’s hands behind her working at the laces of her dress and yes, this is definitely overwhelming, but not bad at all.

They press close either side of her, and Zo reaches around her to hold Giuliano and draw them closer still. His breath is hot on her neck.   
‘As the guest,’ he decides, ‘I think I should let you two set the standard for me before I try anything.’ He makes his way to the bed and sits back leisurely. Something about the way his eyes roam makes her feel naked already.

Giuliano slips her dress down over her shoulders and lets it pool around her feet. He kisses the nape of her neck, the top of her ear, the corner of her jaw.  
‘If this gets too much,’ he whispers, ‘you give me your word.’   
‘No,’ she insists. ‘No, this is good.’ She turns her head to kiss him and he tastes like wine and cloves and honey.

She feels her shoulders drop a little with every lace undone on her bodice, until finally she can shrug out of it and is left in nothing but her underclothes. She tugs them over her head, and then suddenly she is naked and drunk in front of her lover and his friend. 

Giuliano holds himself against her, turns her in his arms so that she faces him.  
‘Your hair,’ he rambles against her skin, ‘I love your hair, it’s like summer, you smell divine-‘  
‘I see someone’s a bit of a romantic when drunk,’ Zo laughs.  
‘You have no idea,’ Vanessa says fondly, curling her hand around the back of Giuliano’s neck and pulling him in for a kiss. She lets her other hand flatten against the span of his chest, her fingers tracing patterns over his skin. He nudges his thigh between her legs and grinds softly, eliciting a wanton moan from her.  
He’s cruel, truly - she’s inexperienced and she knows that it delights him sometimes, when he tries things he knows that no one else has before. It’s easy to catch her off guard.

‘You’re wicked,’ she informs him, wrapping both arms around his neck and leaning against his embrace.  
‘Don’t speak too soon,’ he replies. ‘I think our acquaintance here can best me in that regard.’

He runs his hands down her neck, peppering her face with kisses. ‘I love you,’ he tells her between each one. His hands are warm and firm and so much bigger than hers - she remembers the first time, the alien feeling of such different hands on her, thick and strong and sword-calloused.   
He rocks his hips into the cradle of hers and suddenly she feels him, warm and hard through his thin layers, slipping further against the space she makes for him. Her body arches into his without her own command, as if pulled by invisible string.

He maps out the curve of his breast with his fingers, cups her in his hands and rubs his thumbs maddeningly over her nipples until all she can do is let her head hang in the crook of his shoulder, whisper ‘Giuliano, Giuliano, Giuliano,’ into the dip of his collarbone.   
‘Amore mio,’ he says fondly.  
‘Yes?’ She looks up only because the steady motion of his hips and hands have stopped and she sees no good reason for that to have happened.  
‘I think we’re getting carried away and have entirely forgotten about our friend,’ he smiles.  
‘Right,’ she nods, something like a mixture of embarrassment and drunkenness making her blush. She kisses the grin off his face and then turns to Zo, who has stood to join them. 

He only laughs a little. ‘I don’t know, I was quite enjoying the view.’   
She smiles demurely, and then decides that if anyone’s going to move this forward, to hell with it - it might as well be her.  
And so she kisses Zo, and her body shocks her with its reaction because he’s so different to Giuliano but it’s a wonderful difference, one of teeth scraping on her bottom lip and grinning against her mouth. His hands roam over her back, down the dips of her waist and over her arse, never settling in one place. Finally, he holds her hip with one and slips the other between her legs, parting her with deft fingers and laughing a little when her breath quickens.

Her hips jerk at his touch, fingers running against her skin with no hint of hesitation. He is well-practiced, she knows this. Giuliano rests his chin on her shoulder, kisses her neck openmouthed. She can feel him unlacing his breeches behind her.   
‘God, you’re wet,’ Zo groans, the filthy way his words roll off his tongue making her stomach tighten. She sucks her breath in sharply as he slips two fingers inside her to the third knuckle, a gentle stretch, pushing and flexing as naturally as a pulse or a heartbeat. She runs her hands through his hair and holds tight, liking the way his lips part in response to her grip.

They both kiss her, then, Giuliano chastely on the side of her mouth and Zo hot and wet on her lips, tongue edging its way into her mouth and touching over her teeth. Giuliano slides his hands down the back of her thighs and then lifts her, the new angle of her hips pushing Zo’s fingers in a direction that’s so divine a moan nearly escapes her mouth before she clamps her lips shut.  
‘Don’t,’ insists Zo.  
‘Don’t what?’ She’s rather proud that she could muster two words, to be honest, because the heat of the two of them, Zo’s palm against the apex of her thighs and Giuliano’s grip on her legs is making her feel much, much drunker than she is.  
‘Don’t stop yourself.’ He curls his fingers, moves them in slow circles. ‘Do you feel good?’  
She lets one hand leave his hair and reaches back over her shoulder, holds Giuliano close to her. ‘Yes,’ she answers fervently. ‘Yes.’  
‘Then let us know, mio prediletto.’ 

He leans over and kisses Giuliano, then, and they laugh into each other’s mouths. One hand on each of them for leverage, she locks her ankles behind Zo’s thighs and supports her weight on them, steady and strong, the two constants in her life.  
She lets one hand drift over Zo’s chest and stomach until her fingers curl in the cloth of his underclothes. They’re already slung low on his hips and she pushes them down to the floor without much effort, running her hand back up over his thighs, his hips. She feels a sudden boldness - maybe the wine - as she trails her hands over his hip, flattens her hand against his stomach and pushes lower until she feels him in her hand. 

Zo leans down and bites at her collarbone, teeth scraping lightly, a reminder for the next few nights. His cock is hot and hard and his eyes lock dark with hers as she strokes down his length, his hips jerking against her.  
He curses under his breath and she wonders if he’s trying to keep a hold on himself, wrangle control of his body. He groans and thrusts into her hand.  
‘Is that good?’ she asks coyly, dragging her hand up, enjoying the whine that escapes his lips.  
‘God, Giuliano, she’s something,’ he pants.  
She can’t see Giuliano, but she know he looks smug. She can feel him, too, hard against the cleft of her arse. ‘I love her,’ he says, and she can feel his smile warm and radiant against her skin. ‘I love you. I love you both.’  
It doesn’t matter that he smells like mead and wine and ale.   
‘I love you,’ she repeats, and then Zo does the same thing, and she feels a little bit mad with want and love.

Zo nudges her hips apart and spells on her skin with his fingers: v-o-g-l-i-o l-a t-u-a f-i-c-a, and her chest clenches tight as she nods yes.  
He hitches her up higher on his hips so she feels him against her, giving her leverage to rock her hips upward, breath hitching as the friction hits a certain spot again and again. She notices his voice is hoarser, more strained, when he calls her a string of affectionately filthy nicknames, asks her if Giuliano fucks her hard, if she’s ever had bruises on her hips. 

When he enters her, he’s slow and frustratingly deliberate. He holds her there for a while, lets her adjust to the feeling of him inside her along with Giuliano’s tongue at the nape of her neck, his hands roaming her legs and hips grinding against her arse. She wonders briefly if this is a sin, and if so, how it could feel so positively heavenly. Zo begins to work his hips, building up a steady rhythm, and she feels higher than the stars.   
‘You’re so tight,’ he groans, resting his forehead against the dip of her shoulder. She tenses her hips around him teasingly, feeling immensely satisfied when he makes a strangled moan and forces himself to take in a deep, shuddery breath.  
‘You randy little minx,’ he laughs weakly. He begins to push his hips upward more sharply, making quicker, shallower motions before alternating them with slower, more forceful thrusts. He slips one hand into the roots of her hair, yanks her head back to expose the long, white column of her throat to him. He kisses it greedily, all tongue and teeth and bravado as his hips crash into hers like waves on rocks.

Bruises, she thinks. He’s going to leave bruises. The thought excites her for whatever reason, having a brand of his body’s make inside her thighs so that she remembers him each time she undresses and sees the flushed reds and purples.

Giuliano’s hand slips around her waist, strong, steady, the other still groping at her thigh for leverage. He dips his fingers between her legs and slowly, leisurely, strokes her in time with Zo’s thrusts.   
She can feel white heat building in her stomach, rising through her body. She closes her eyes and focuses on the motion of her hips, rolling to meet Zo, arcing up into Giuliano’s touch. Zo has become rough in his abandon, leaving marks where he grips too hard and biting at her shoulder.

‘Zo-’ she gasps out, ‘keep- harder-‘  
He digs his fingertips into her hips, obediently driving his hips forward with even more force. She craves it, letting out a half-laugh of satisfaction as she runs her hand through his hair and curls it around her fingers. In the dim light his eyes are black, molten beneath his eyelashes, all-consuming.   
‘Come for me, Vanessa,’ he says, and it’s more of a command than a request. ‘You like having another man fuck you, don’t you? God, your cunt is divine, come on, let go, let me feel you-‘  
It’s filthy, nothing Giuliano would ever dare say, and for that reason she feels crackles of heat rush through her and then a full bodied release, and she’s twisting and keening and all of her muscles clench and unclench; ’Zo,’ she pants, repeating it like a prayer, riding out waves of pleasure that make her hips stutter and toes curl.  
She can feel his rhythm dissipate into a series of short, quick thrusts, and then he swears quickly under his breath, punctuating the words with her name, ‘scopare, Vanessa, cazzo, merda, merda, merda,’ and then he slams his lips against hers hungrily, growls animalistic into her mouth. 

Zo stills completely, and she can feel his hands trembling on her hips. He dips his head and noses at her jaw, nips at the flushed skin and then flicks his tongue over the mark.   
‘Divina,’ he mumbles. ‘Splendidamente osceni, mio amore.’  
Vanessa trails her hand lazily down the back of his neck, runs her fingers over the raised trail of his spine. ‘You’re not so bad yourself,’ she laughs. 

She cranes her head back to Giuliano, realising that she’s been putting all of her weight on him; her climax leaving her utterly boneless.   
‘And how are you feeling back there, my love?’  
He chuckles, brushes his lips against her ear. ‘That was quite something,’ and she can hear his smile in his voice.

She eases herself to the ground and stands carefully, keeping her hands on their shoulders, testing her legs - still shaky, a little weak in the knees, but fine enough. She turns slowly and places both hands against Giuliano’s chest. She can feel his heart beating beneath his sternum and slows her breath accordingly, splaying her fingers wide across him.   
‘I feel quite competitive, now,’ he admits, which makes her laugh.  
‘Come on, then,’ she teases. ‘Prove yourself.’

He drops to his knees, slowly, surely, running his hands down her sides as he does. She’s hyper-sensitive still, each touch making her skin jump a little. He brushes his thumbs along the inside of her thighs, slick with sweat, runs three fingers feather-light over her sex.  
‘Voglio assaggiare te,’ he confesses against her skin, his words muffled, and she feels her knees buckle a little, the spark of arousal set aflame again. Zo holds her for support, massages her breasts with hands markedly more gentle than before.   
She rolls her hips toward Giuliano almost involuntarily, and he groans, breath hot between her legs. His beard is rough-soft against her skin, his tongue skilled and quick and oh, he’s good at taking her apart.

Vanessa notices reserve in his movements, a slight gentleness that she doesn’t bother to correct because she loves it - the way he handles her as if she might break, how his touch is soft and unobtrusive.   
She has never felt as desirable as she does under his hands.  
She curls both hands in his hair and tilts his head back gently. He takes a gasping breath, eyes fluttering shut.   
Making demands has never really been one of her strengths, but she tests her words in her head and decides they sound alright.  
‘I want you to fuck me,’ she tells him, and she feels his hands tighten on her thighs, already tender from the marks Zo left before him. He stands somewhat shakily, one hand finding the small of her back and pulling her close.  
‘You’ll be the death of me, woman,’ he growls. 

She just kisses him, then, tastes wine and herself and Zo his tongue. He hitches one of her thighs up and hooks it around him, his arm tensing as he lets her rest her weight on him. His kisses roam to her neck, and he mumbles nonsense into her skin - she makes out ‘close’ and ‘beautiful’ but not much else.

He rocks his hips against hers a little and then bends, pushes up into her, one hand holding her steady and the small of her back. Zo is exciting and new and different but she decides that nothing will be better than this; the way they fit so perfectly together and the familiarity in his warm touch. He tells her sometimes that they were made for each other, cut from the same marble and painted by the same hand, and she just laughs and lets him have his fancy - but now, she knows all too well what he means, the way he seems to slot into her like they’re meant to be one.

He kisses her, wet and openmouthed and bolder than before.   
With Zo’s support behind her, she lets herself be held between them and holds Giuliano’s face in her hands, presses her forehead against his.  
‘You feel so good,’ he pants, ‘need you- fucking hell, Vanessa.’  
She edges her lips against his jaw, sucks lovebites too high to be hidden by a collar, and she hopes that everyone sees them at his wedding. The thought makes her shake a little, press her face into his shoulder and hold tight around his neck.

She hopes that the other woman is never as good as her, as this.

Zo peppers kisses across her upper back, rocks his hips a little behind her, and the three of them maintain a funny, disjointed kind of rhythm. She can feel a second release creeping up on her, and she’s so tender that it almost hurts - a good pain, one that spurs her on and she grinds her hips faster against Giuliano.  
She lets out a groan with each movement, it’s too much, she feels like she’s going to burst with the heat of it all-

‘Ness,’ he says desperately, ‘Vanessa, God,’ and then he makes a noise like a wounded animal, holds her so tightly she feels she could just melt into him. All she knows is his kisses and his fingertips and the way he stutters her name, again and again like some primal chant, and then she’s coming around him, every inch of her sparking with heat.  
Zo whispers ‘buona ragazza’ low in her ear and she shudders, tips her head back and lets her lips hang open.  
She laughs a little, because she wonders what the convent would think of this.

-

After, she is tired, more tired than she can say, and the bed is so welcoming she feels as if she might sink into it and never rise. There are lazy kisses and murmurs about tomorrow, but she doesn’t care, can’t bring herself to.   
It doesn’t matter. What matters is Zo, and Giuliano, and falling asleep between them, and walking one step at time. Bed matters, and hazy kisses and fingers running through hair and skin still aflame and jumping at each touch.

She sleeps, and lets herself dream without consequence.


End file.
